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The Weight of Being Held
It is a physical ache, this hunger.
Not a grand, romantic notion,
but a simple, desperate need for gravity.
To have another body anchor mine
to the earth, to feel the steady rise and fall of a chest,
and know, for an hour, that I am safe.
I don't need the world to change,
I just want the space between us to vanish.
I want to know the absolute peace
of arms that wrap around my shoulders,
holding tight enough to quiet
the noise in my mind,
tight enough to make me feel solid.
To be held is to be allowed to drop the weight.
To stop fighting, stop pretending,
stop being strong.
I just want to close my eyes in the dark,
feel the warmth of someone's skin against mine,
and for once
Just let go.
